A Million Miles Apart
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: Jaxter, language, some content. Post Jak III. An Oracle's cryptic message forces Daxter to unveil his truest feelings or lose the only companion he's ever known...


**A Million Miles Apart**

by Soul of Ashes

A Note From the Author: I figured I haven't posted in awhile. My beloved lover and I concocted this series of events while playing Jak III together. The whole thing was caused by a comment he made casually, "They're always touching but they're a million miles apart." So... here we go. Hope you come out intact.

0--0--0--0

Haven City.

The streets no longer felt familiar; hover cars flew in lesser numbers, the marketplace suffered from lack of direction and income. But to Jak and his ottsel friend, Daxter, the city was always going to be... home now. The soft forests of their homeland was years - centuries - away. And luckily, this new home had a more specific address that the two could call their own forever. That was the Shadow's old hideout, behind a sliding wall marked with the Shadow's secret symbol. There, Torn had left much of the place to them to increase damage control. After all, Daxter could transform a five star hotel room into a Metalhead nest in a single hour if left to his own furry devices. Daxter also insisted that he would never get full eating that crap they served in what was left of the Baron's crumbling tower.

But it wasn't an empty belly bothering Daxter as he perched outside on a piece of rubble, thinking about the singular figure in his life that stood out. Not just because his hair was the color of ripening bananas or his eyes were the most engaging green eyes EVER, or that he had ridden on his shoulder through some crazy crap that no tiny ottsel of any good sanity should withstand. But he was the one ottsel who did... and it burned him up knowing why. The years that he had spent searching for him, the tribulations. It wasn't just devotion for a friend. A guy didn't just up and... spend so much time, so much energy, his soul, into getting his friend busted out of jail in a world that felt much like their own and yet... wasn't.

It had taken him awhile to realize how to use the new environment to his advantage. But it was worth it... just to see Jak open up his beautiful eyes and say,

"I'm gonna kill Praxis!"

Oh, yeah. So worth it.

Jak was his world. Ever since they were kids, they were almost connected at the hip. When his defenses failed and the cruelty of others threatened to snuff that smart-ass light from Daxter's eyes, Jak was there to silently back him up. There was endless appreciation to be shown to Jak. And the ottsel couldn't express it in words. He used to think he would never be like Jak. The grace, the strength, the courage. His gruff voice growling in pleasure at the prospect of new challenges, new weapons to use, things to smash up. Daxter often wondered if the big guy ever thought of anything else during the quiet hours or if he was simply waiting for the next opportunity to show up his challengers.

Jak was godly. Maybe Daxter was jealous... but then why did he crave what he couldn't be? What he could never have?

He was too small, too insignificant and... too furry. Plus Jak had girls on his mind, not small furry animals when he stroked himself at night (What? Not like Jak made a big secret of it.). Jak was a ladies man, could say more with a look than Daxter could with any of his word bullets. Jak was sexy, where Dax was always just... adorable. The furry cute little sidekick, the smart-mouthed Cassanova wannabe. No one got mad when Daxter hit on anyone. It was only to get Jak's attention anyway. Only to see what Jak would do or say that would give the ottsel some kind of sign that Jak still paid attention to him, though there was never any call for Daxter to ride into battle upon his faithful companion's shoulder. He wanted to belong to Jak, though he would never, _ever_ say aloud that he _belonged_ to anyone.

He could not help but get fiery jealousy pains when he saw Jak with Keira or Ashelin. Talking, laughing by the fountain as the water lapped the edges of the pool. Smiling at them. Touching them. Meanwhile Daxter was ignored as if he was a commodity to be enjoyed only when Jak wanted him around. Brushed off his shoulder like dust, Daxter would go hide somewhere, watch from afar, and nurse his burning hurt, which was barricaded by coarse remarks and bad attitude.

Daxter was a soft, squishy kind of guy. You don't mess with that, Daxter thought with some frustration. Hasn't anyone ever heard of Hell hath no fury like an ottsel scorned?!

The self-proclaimed Orange Lightning heaved his shoulders with a heavy sigh, and decided he would end the painful cycle of abandonment by Jak. Maybe if Jak knew how he felt, he wouldn't treat Daxter so lightly. Maybe if he said it out loud, it would feel ridiculous enough to be untrue. Maybe it would go away. And life could continue as normal. It sounded like a good idea, telling him how he really felt. After all, you don't keep stuff like that from your best friend... right? Uh, right?!

He gave a soft sigh and turned around, jerking back in surprise to see the soft-footed Jak was standing in the doorway of the secret hideaway. His eyes were fixated on him, and his smile was cocky.

"I was wondering where you were."

"A-Ah... y-you were?" Daxter's mouth felt like dry cotton. Then he had to rush forward, jump ahead of himself before his anxiety caught up with him and ensnared his tongue. "Listen, uh, there's something I gotta tell you."

Jak gave a small frown. "What is it?" Oh damn it, why did he have to sound so concerned? Why wasn't he annoyed? Angry, maybe. He understood Angry Jak. Not Concerned Jak.

And he was leaning so close, too. And Daxter was overwhelmed by the urge to just shut up and crawl up on his shoulder and let it all alone.

No!

This had to be said. And maybe he could enjoy his prized position on his shoulder again. The ottsel braced himself, and opened his mouth to begin the long-labored speech he had formulated in his mind for the past two and a half hours...

...and said, "I-I-I've got this really bad jock itch and it's buggin' th' CRAP outta me!" And he proceeded, vigorously, to scratch his furry netherbits.

Jak simply stared. But putting aside the humor of it, he simply shook his head and leaned closer to his level. Daxter tried not to flinch away, resisted the urge to simply run.

"Daxter," he said, "you ride on my shoulder. You don't run. And you don't wear... pants." He gave him a long stare that commanded the ottsel to level with him. When Daxter dodged his gaze, feeling the beam of concern crushing him to the wall, Jak reached out and tipped his chin up gently. His finger was big enough to blacken his eye if he flicked it. But it was one of the most gentlest touches Daxter had ever experienced - at least coming from Jak.

It was always "Let's scratch the little orange bastard roughly about the ears and back." But not with Jak... Jak was so gentle.

He almost purred, but his eyes... his damn eyes were pulling him in, and the ottsel's expression was torn between anxiety and puppy-love - hopefully mostly the former. Jak's eyes...

"You know," Daxter began slowly, uncertainly. This was unfamiliar ground. Jak had suddenly torn away his only defense. Now there were different words to speak now. "We've been through a lot together. Jak, I've been thinking."

"About what?" Jak sat down beside him, outmassing him by a hundredfold, but he never felt as if Jak ever _loomed_ around him. He leaned his paw on his thigh and looked up - _way_ up - at Jak, who was still skewering him with those ever-patient, ever-understanding eyes that were tinged with a little anxiety of their own.

"Well, I've been your friend ever since Old Greenie got on our asses about saving the world and stuff. Before I became all cute and fuzzy. And being with you... well, I miss it."

"But I AM with you."

Daxter cringed. "R-Right, yes. Well, I just wanted... to say this. Before..."

"Before?"

"I like you a lot, Jak." There. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to say. Nonetheless... "I mean it. I like you a lot and... well, I just don't want to see us growing apart."

"What are you talking about? Dax, we'll never grow apart. We've been friends since we were tots; why would anything change that?" His words were so soft and heartfelt.

Why the hell did Daxter feel as if he'd been pierced by toothpicks straight through his tiny fuzzy heart?

"Friends... Yeah. Why? Heh." He gulped down a lump of disappointment that threatened to strangle him. He pieced together a brittle smile and hoped Jak was too dense at the moment to see how much he was being eaten alive from the inside out. "Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest. I feel a lot better now." You slippery orange bastard, just say what you really meant... ah, crap. Jak stood up and stretched. Apparently today was a dense day for Jak. He smiled and replied, "Wanna go for a drink? You look like you kinda need one."

Jak always knew just what to say. "Sure." Maybe a stiff one (or two or six) would get his head on straight. He hadn't gone boozing since the We Saved The WOrld (Again) after party. It was a good idea. Getting plastered so he didn't remember today was starting to look pretty good. And Jak even picked him up and placed him on his shoulder, gave him a frustratingly brotherly tweak to his ear and walked off. His walking gait was familiar and Daxter fell into shifting his weight with each long stride Jak took.

Like two symbiotic organisms, one helping the other. Jak would be lost with me, Daxter reassured himself. So I better not screw this up with my stupid love nonsense. Just get a few drinks and wake up and you'll feel better. Or not. Can't be worse than earlier.

He buried his nose into his hair and clung to Jak's goggle strap just behind his long pointed ear. Unwashed hair, earth, ocean, leather. And faintly, like a memory, the richness of trees. He smiled.

--

The bar was a cool, happenin' place. It felt like a second home to Daxter, who always shared his memories here with Jak. He never saw Jak once get a little drunk. Not even at the Save-The-World blah blah party. But it was always fun hamming it up for Jak. Sometimes he didn't need to. It was pretty easy to overstep his limits when he was only fourteen inches tall. The blood-alcohol ratio worked a little differently when you're the size of a large rodent.

But the pint-sized animal would soon discover that Jak plus alcohol equated a really friendly, touchy-feely problem which not even he could have foreseen.

It started with a few drinks. Daxter encouraging him with a rowdy, "Come on, live a little, Hero! Bawk, bawk!" And Jak grinned away, resisting until, for some unforeseeable reason, he indulged in a drink. And then another.

And another.

And another.

Sig looked over from his stool, arching a brow as he shifted his muscled, armored weight. "Damn, that boy can seriously hold his liquour!"

"Uh," Jak articulated. "Gimme 'nother."

Daxter shook his head a little, trying to push the glass away from Jak's reaching hand. "Big guy, I think you've, uh, had enough..."

And instead of grasping the glass, his fumbling fingers seized the ottsel firmly around the torso and lifted him off the bar counter. Before he realized the glass was furry and wriggling, Daxter had been pressed firmly to his lips for several long seconds. Then shaken over his mouth as if he were empty, like a bottle.

"The hell? S'empty. I said gimme-- Oh, Daxter. What are you doing in my cup, y'dumbass?" He chuckled, plopped him down a little too hard and leered over him. "Silly. I can't drink you! You might taste good, though. Heh, heh! What's orange taste like?"

Daxter was still reeling from being shaken about. He couldn't even enjoy the fact that he'd been accidently kissed. Oh wait. Nevermind. He DID enjoy it. And that thought made his fur turn a brilliant shade of tangerine. He coughed and smoothed down his fur, glowering at the barcounter. He hadn't had a drop to drink! Jak was having all the fun - at his expense. And as usual, he was going to have to clean up the mess if Jak started throwing up.

"Uh, Jak? Get your act together, man, we gotta get you home and to bed. It's nighty-night time for inebriated hero boy."

"I'm not in.. ineb... that word. Silly." He circled around the ottsel a singular arm that may as well have been a solid barricade. Jak never took off his armor pieces for anything, which proved to be a formidable challenge to initiating Mission: Jak Go Home Go Sleepy-By. No matter how much the orange furball struggled, the tighter the other held, his nose buried in the ottsel's fur as if he wanted to smell what he might taste like.

"So what do you taste like?" Jak muttered just for his small ears, still grinning.

And the fur all along his back bristled into a rigid spine. He shuddered as he felt his lips on his fur.

"Okay, okay, okay, OKAY!!" The ottsel shouted, writhing in vigor. "Help! He's... crazy!!" Grunting, he saw Sig stand up just beyond the arm trying to snuggle him closer. Jak's expression was rapturous, nuzzling his ottsel as if there was nothing more important to him at that moment. And Sig dropped his massive hand across both of Jak's narrow shoulders.

"Drop the rat, kid, it ain't worth it."

"Heyyy, you're really BIG." In a moment of inattention, Jak loosened his grip and Daxter made his escape, ruffled as hell and pissed as a hornet.

"Shit, he almost choked me!" he exclaimed, smoothing his fur - again! - after the maltreatment. Damn, damn, DAMN! He just wanted to get this stupid bastard home and go to sleep. "Thanks, tall, dark, and beefy. I woulda bit the big one if it wasn't for you. And uh, I don't mean I was gonna bite YOU."

"Why didn't you make sure he was taking it easy?" Sig demanded as he slung a complacent but audibly complaining Jak over his shoulder.

"Hey, wh-where am I going?" Jak wondered, suddenly flung up into the air. "I don't wanna fly right now, put me down."

"What was I supposed to do?" Daxter retorted as he climbed up on top of Jak for the walk home. "Jump inside the damn mug and bite him if he tried to take a drink?"

"I don't care what you did, but you are his friend, aren't ya?" Sig pushed open the old-fashioned swinging doors and marched out into the drizzling rain. The sky was already turning a shade of purple-pink, the clouds churning above, threatening a downpour. "You're supposed to look out for each other. And that includes getting blitzed when Jak doesn't know his damn limit."

Daxter tried not to flinch. He was beginning to hate that word. Friend. It was a condemnation nowadays that he didn't like. But Sig was right. He HAD told Jak to live a little. Well, now he was damned alive, wasn't he? He sighed and patted Jak affectionately on the head, tsking at the state of his pony tail that was usually so neat. Now it was frazzled and, great, the rain was going to make it all tangled and messier. While Sig hauled Jak into a hovercar Sig had procured from a repairman dealership, Daxter felt his own smallness mock him. He couldn't even do this much for Jak. Jak would never have fallen into a drunken stupor if someone else had been his pal. If he did, someone else would have helped him get home, tuck him into bed, make sure he'd be fine to sleep if he got sick. Daxter was hopelessly pointless.

He cuddled against the inside of his jacket as the rain began to take on the quality of pebbles pelting his small body. As he listened to the sound of the rain and the whining hovercar engine, he heard Sig shout, "Damn, it's really comin' down! Better keep covered, kiddo."

"Already on it, metal-butt." Daxter knew he couldn't have heard him anyway. He buried himself into Jak's shirt, still getting damp but at least not soaked. He sniffled and whispered, "Sorry, pal. Guess I let ya down..."

Once Sig had laid Jak on the bed and started to pull up the blankets, Daxter suddenly said, "Hey, you don't have to... Let me take care of him. It's the least I can do." He paused and rubbed his own shoulder. "And that's probably literal."

The larger man made Jak diminutive compared to him. To Daxter, he was the size of a mountain. But the dark-skinned man was capable of being a gentle giant in his own way. He knelt down and picked up the orange ottsel and replaced him next to Jak on the sheets. "You know, if you really love the guy, you should tell him that."

"L-LOVE?"

Sig winked. "I can smell a relationship in danger a mile away. And you've got the look of an emotionally congested fella." He patted him; it was a little rough but Daxter still appreciated it, in spite of his sudden desire to faint dead away. Great. Sig knew it, and he'd probably tell everyone on the face of the damn planet and it'd somehow get back to Jak the wrong way. He didn't need any help telling Jak anything!

"Yeah, well, you shut up about it, 'cause I don't need THAT drama." He pointed a furry, threatening paw at Sig. "I don't need anybody's help, all right?"

A chuckle, then Sig was turning to leave. "Then you have no problem telling him so. Looked to me like he had some inhibited feelings toward you anyway concernin' the way ottsel's taste. Heh, heh!"

"Hay! Shut up!" Daxter snarled a curse as the door thumped shut, locking out the rain and Sig's friendly laughter. "Just what I need. A gun-lugging, metal-encased fag giving me advice. Even HE thinks I'm hot for Jak. Precursors help me." He turned to Jak, noticed that his eyes were half-lidded, watching him. "Beh, what does he know, right, Jak?" With animated grunts of strain, he climbed up the length of Jak's body with the sheet gripped in his teeth. He only got it as far as his waist before he collapsed in a heap on Jak's chest, chest heaving for breath.

He wanted to cry; Jak was already sleeping it off, but Daxter felt like the one with the hangover. He nested inside his jacket again, biting his claws. It was all over, he'd blown it completely. Worse than ever, he was going to have to nurse Jak's hangover tomorrow and do so without suggesting that anything weird had happened in case he recalled being friendly with an ottsel, instead of a woman. The last thing he wanted is to see Jak pushed even farther away. It was going to suck no matter--

Hand. Warm, tender fingers sinking through his fur, stroking sleepily and producing the delicious tremors of pleasure only an ottsel could know. All along his spine trailed knowledgeable fingertips, rubbing tired, small muscles, easing stress-induced aches. His breath exhaled in a soft, trembling moan which was buried in the other's shirt to muffle it.

Jak wasn't sleeping. At least not sleeping enough where he couldn't place experienced fingers all along stress points Daxter could never reach. He whimpered and rubbed his face against the other's chest, his body uncurling and laying splayed belly down, uttering tiny noises into his shirt. It felt so good, so damn good. Touches trailing down his spine reached the base of his tail, curled around. Squeezed.

"N-N--!" Daxter went rigid, and the fingers immediately let go. He bit his tongue; no, that didn't hurt in the least. He went still again as Jak provided a few consolatory strokes to his back before the man's hand curled around him and held him in place delicately.

Reeling, Dax shut his eyes, still struggling to steady his breathing. Jak hadn't given him a massage in months. It never gave his body that kind of response before, either. He battled with it, painful as it was, to ignore the erection pressing against Jak's shirt, the ache in his lower belly from different muscles pushing and pulling. But patiently the ottsel waited. Could have been worse. He could have been writhing like an ottsel in heat awhile longer, never realizing he could have stopped Jak at any time from pulling and stroking his tail. Could have continued rubbing himself all over Jak's shirt, drowning in his scent, losing himself in every generous touch.

Could have orgasmed, come so hard it hurt, suffocating his cries in his shirt, before even realizing what he was clinging to was fur, thick, warm, that his nose was pressed into a sweet-scented body which was quivering just as hard, suffering and enjoying himself just as much...

But he waited instead, and eventually his body was too tired to keep up an interest in getting off. And with his skin tingling pleasantly from the massage and his own exhausted fancies, Daxter quickly submitted himself to sleep.

--

Somewhere far away, someone was throwing up. Daxter wrinkled his nose and rolled over, covering his ears and pulling them down to block it out. And rolled right off the bed, falling to the floor with a muffled thump.

"Shit!" he moaned, rubbing his sore ass end as he stood up. "Wake up call, my ass. I guess Jak's already up." He winced as he listened awhile. "Poor fella... Maybe I'd better get Keira over here with her weird potion crap to get him through the day." He padded over to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"Ugh... what... Dax?"

"Jak? Buddy? You want me to call someone?" Daxter tried to keep his voice concerned yet nonchalant. "Maybe Keira with something for your headache?"

Jak opened the door and let himself out, walking back toward the bed and shielding his eyes with a pained grimace. He didn't respond, Daxter supposed, 'cause words were above his ability level at that point. Daxter hopped up next to him and restrained his guilt. If he didn't poke fun, Jak would think something was up, so he summed up the evening simply.

"Guess some dudes can't hold their alcohol. Ha, shoulda known better than to introduce you to that girl."

Jak nailed him with a bloodshot eye and curled his lip in a growl. "Shut up, Dax." He sat down next to him, eyes still shielded, his shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. "I kept having this weird dream." His troubled look turned inward and the man gave a slight shake of his head, which was a decidedly bad manuever for him. He stood up quickly again and vanished into the bathroom for another bout.

Daxter gulped, scratching the back of his neck. "A dream, huh?" He could only imagine what about. His mouth suddenly went dry and he clambered across the bed to the end table, where there was always a dish of water next to the lamp. But last night Jak hadn't been able to refresh it. So it was growing tepid and it tasted horrible. He wiped his whiskers and sighed.

Suddenly Jak's communicator beside him began beeping. He nearly jumped clean out of his fur, it was so damn loud. He answered it, looking at the disgruntled face of Samos the Green Sage blinking back at him. "Where the hell is Jak?" said the disembodied voice from the device. "And why isn't he answering?"

Daxter glanced at the bathroom door. "Uhh, Jackie had a rough night so I don't think he's ready to come to the phone right now..."

"Do you think I care about what kind of night he had? I have important news. Jak, if you can hear me, get your behind over here!"

Before Daxter could start hollering, Jak came out of the bathroom, searched for the disturbance, then picked up the device.

"What do you want, Samos?" Jak was straining to keep his irritation at a tolerable level. Daxter hopped up onto his shoulder and rubbed his temple for him, which Jak ignored completely as Samos related the information.

"The Precursor Oracle discovered under the city a few weeks ago has been active since last night. I'd like you to go down with Daxter and take a look. Maybe there's something to be retrieved from the catacombs."

Daxter sneered. "Sorry, Ol' Mean and Green, but Jak's a bit under the weather to go splunking for Precursor crap today. Maybe we can set up a date later?"

But splunking was on Jak's mind. In spite of his hangover he said, "Uh, sure. I'm your man, Samos. Where do I have to go?"


End file.
